To we or not to we...
There are times when you reluctantly rise from your comfortably cocooning Sunday afternoon bed, the sun streaming on your face as you keep turning (both yourself and your persistent phone, onto 'silent') and tossing, burying your face in a pillow -- but as said, irked or not, you're up now. And really not in the mood for the usual.
So you go for a horseback ride.
Not literally, of course. That's just posterior-cruelty (and not particularly nice to the steed either, who'd probably like a siesta himself.. it just is that kind of weather.)
No, you mount the stallion -- hell, the word really would be literally after all, won't it? When you lie back, let that harsh sun-glare pour onto pages and light up words, glorious words about an Emperor and his self-devised immortal Queen, and his struggles with individuality, personality, peace and plurality.
The magazine you read, to get to this particular afternoon's marvellous galloping sojourn, is The New Yorker, and the wordsmith in question, writing about Akbar and Jodha -- in a sharply incisive, everfunny- narrative that spans 8 pages, not 3.35 hours -- is the one man in the world who can describe air as quivering, "like a frightened blackbuck."
His name is Salman Rushdie, and his The Shelter Of The World (Jahanpanah) is available here, to read online.
Anytime, buddies. Read on, into the sunset.
So you go for a horseback ride.
Not literally, of course. That's just posterior-cruelty (and not particularly nice to the steed either, who'd probably like a siesta himself.. it just is that kind of weather.)
No, you mount the stallion -- hell, the word really would be literally after all, won't it? When you lie back, let that harsh sun-glare pour onto pages and light up words, glorious words about an Emperor and his self-devised immortal Queen, and his struggles with individuality, personality, peace and plurality.
The magazine you read, to get to this particular afternoon's marvellous galloping sojourn, is The New Yorker, and the wordsmith in question, writing about Akbar and Jodha -- in a sharply incisive, everfunny- narrative that spans 8 pages, not 3.35 hours -- is the one man in the world who can describe air as quivering, "like a frightened blackbuck."
His name is Salman Rushdie, and his The Shelter Of The World (Jahanpanah) is available here, to read online.
Anytime, buddies. Read on, into the sunset.